One for the Money, Two for the Show
by Damiar
Summary: An investigative journalist gets a tip from an old friend about Umbrella's plans to open a facility using a dummy corporation in their hometown. They work together to expose the secret, but soon find themselves fighting for their lives in a tragic spill.
1. Chapter 1

It was a bitter cold night, the kind that freezes to the bone. White flurries fell to the ground to make an icy blanket over the ground. There was no wind, and it was something to be thankful for. Matthew rubbed his hands together and breathed warm, wet air into his fingers.

_Where is he? He should have been here by now._

He pulled back the cloth of his fingerless gloves to look at his watch. 9:18. He was only three minutes late, but that was so uncharacteristic of him. Usually he was three to eight minutes early wherever he went. Matthew was just getting ready to reach for his cell phone when he saw the beams of a car's headlights in the distance. It made the snow glisten like diamonds in the otherwise moonlit street.

_I thought I would get a break coming back home…this is worse than the weather in New York!_

He heard the sound of snow crunching grumpily under the tires of the white Corolla as it inched its way alongside Matthew. He opened the door of his own Jeep to grab his laptop, shut it, clicked the lock button and opened the passenger door.

"Long time no see," he said, getting into the car. He placed his laptop bag on the floorboard as he looked over at his old friend.

"Five years," he agreed. He did not say anything else; he just put the car in drive and kept going. This was unusual. He was usually more talkative and jovial. Something must have really been bothering him. He sounded so distraught on the phone. It was certainly not a phone call that Matthew expected to get…especially from Caleb. He had been in touch with him via email, bouncing ideas and manuscripts back and forth.

"How have you been?" Matthew asked, genuinely concerned. Their emails had been shallow and superficial, exclusively professional as of late.

"Not so good," Caleb admitted with a sigh. He looked at Matthew and forced a smile. His face smiled, but there was obvious sorrow in his eyes.

"What's up?" Matthew asked.

"I need your help with something," Caleb replied. He did not say anything more. Matthew raised his eyebrows, impatient at the failure to explain and elaborate.

"It must be something really important for you to ask me to fly back here to Illinois," Matthew pointed out.

"You have no idea," Caleb said. Again, no elaboration, just quick, vague answers. Matthew was tired of beating around the bush.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"I have a lead on a story…something that would be of great interest to you. I've got some inside information that could be very helpful," Caleb said.

"Well…out with it," Matthew urged.

"The Umbrella Corporation used a dummy corporation call Tri-Cell to buy the refineries…all three of them," Caleb answered, grimacing. Matthew's mouth fell open. He remembered his brother was talking about the refineries shutting down and being bought out by a company called Tri-Cell. He had done research on Tri-Cell, trying to find out what a pharmaceutical company would want with crude oil refineries.

"Tri-Cell is owned by Umbrella?" Matthew asked. He was in complete disbelief. This was easily the worse news that he had heard in a while. The Umbrella Corporation had a lot of flack over their experiments with viral weaponry going wrong in a few cities across the globe…the worst of them being Raccoon City. Caleb knew that Matthew would be particularly interested in it. He had been the designated investigative journalist covering the story for the New York Times. He was still working freelance, back then. It was a big writing break for him. He was nominated for a Pulitzer for his "Raccoon City's Aftermath" article. It featured testimonials of resident survivors of the tragic disaster, as well as his own theories about the government's decision to bomb the city.

"Apparently. There's no ties to it with stock, owners, employers or anything. As far as the outward eye can tell, Tri-Cell is a publicly traded company completely independent and separate from the Umbrella Corporation. Of course, this is a façade to hide what's really going on," Caleb added.

"So how do you know? Do you have proof?" Matthew asked. He reflexively reached for the tape recorder in his bag. He had been meaning to buy a digital recorder for years, but there was something about old school that tickled Matthew's fancy. He saw Caleb shoot an apprehensive glance at the tape recorder.

"I prefer to keep this off the record for now, if you don't mind," Caleb insisted. Matthew nodded, putting the recorder in his lap, ready to have it ready a moment's notice. Matthew waited for Caleb to explain himself.

"As you can imagine, when the facilities where purchased, the workers were all laid off…except for the chemists and engineers. They were given a huge severance…enough for most of them to retire on. My dad was included in that group of course," Caleb continued.

"I'm not following you," Matthew admitted.

"So the last time I was over at my dad's house I just happened to see his severance check sitting on the desk in his office. I was curious about the amount, so I had to snoop. Well, you'll never guess who's signature was on the check," Caleb said.

"Vincent McFadden," Matthew said, connecting the dots. Caleb nodded.

"This is _huge!_ This is beyond scandal," Matthew said aloud. It also made sense why no one was figuring this out and taking it public. Only a few people knew that name, or the man behind the alias; Matthew and Caleb were among the few. He was one of the higher-ups on the corporate ladder, one of the only executives in the company that did not disappear or die by untimely natural causes.

"It's just a name on a piece of paper to everyone else, but when I saw it my heart stopped," Caleb iterated.

"I guess. Still, it's probably good that no one knows that Umbrella's in town. It'd be bad if radicals did what they did in Australia," Matthew pointed out.

"Agreed. Still, it needs to be made public in some fashion or another. The only person I knew with experience and expertise with Umbrella was you," Caleb said. "We need to do something soon. They'll be opening the medical testing facility in just a few weeks. They pay loads of money for participants, but we both know, and shudder to think, what kind of testing they'll be conducting."

"Surely they're not going to do viral testing straightaway," Matthew objected.

"I wouldn't be so sure. I think that they are trying to develop a vaccine for the T-virus."

"How brilliant! A vaccine for the deadliest and most dangerous virus known to man," Matthew exclaimed sarcastically.

"I think that they want to develop a vaccine so that they can get it back on the black market. It pays to be the only company with a vaccine to a doomsday virus," Caleb added.

"Yeah, but they've been there and done that. They're under new management now. To be honest…a vaccine is the best idea I've heard in a long time," Matthew admitted.

"We wouldn't need a vaccine if there was no virus in the first place. Anyway, the reason that I called you down here is so that you can work your magic and get some information," Caleb said. Matthew rolled his eyes. As usual, his friend overestimated his capabilities.

"You act like I can just march in there like any other journalist and they're going to tell me all their dirty little secrets. They'll give me the generic, cover-story, bullshit that they give every other reporter looking for a story," Matthew said, shaking his head.

"Quit being modest. You know what questions to ask," Caleb protested.

"Yeah, and if I go in there, guns blazing, stirring up trouble, they'll just put a tighter lock on whatever they're trying to hide," Matthew replied.

"Exactly," Caleb said with a mischievous smirk. What was he thinking? Obviously, by the coy look on his face, he had a plan, probably brilliant and dangerous.

"You're vagueness is killing me; throw me a bone. What do you have in mind?"

"If you put the pressure on them, they'll put extra security on whatever facility is housing their viral stuff. We'll know where to look," Caleb said with a grin.

"And then what?"

"You know what," Caleb replied grimly. Matthew returned the sentiment as he leaned his head on the car's headrest. What were the odds? An investigative journalist, and an up-and-coming novelist working together to expose a corrupt company's dangerous secrets. He had to admit, this was the opportunity of his writing career. His aftermath interview paper had been great, but a first-hand, exclusive expose on Umbrella's next conspiracy was too good to pass up.

"It's gonna make a hell of a paper," Matthew said, grinning ear-to-ear.

"It's gonna make a better book…and eventually a movie," Caleb countered, playfully elbowing Matthew in the ribs.

"When do we begin?" Matthew asked.

"Is tomorrow too early for you?"

"Tomorrow's fine with me," Matthew replied.

_"_Tomorrow it is," Caleb confirmed.


	2. Chapter 2

It seemed the snow would never end. It was not nearly as beautiful at night as it was in the day time. In the sunlight all of the melted, slushy parts of the white blanket could be seen. Once enough tires treaded over it, it became tracks of disgustingly gray and black sludge.

_I hate winter…_Matthew complained to himself. He was driving Caleb's car right now; he did not bother to get a rental when he arrived at Lambert Airport. He was not sure how long he was going to need stay. Before all was said and done, he would have to get one of his own. It was a good thing that Caleb worked at home and did not need to go to work.

_Luxuries of writing novels,_ Matthew thought bitterly. He worked for the Times, had a desk, an office with a view and had to be there from nine to five, in case one of his informants called with a lead on a story. Caleb got to sit in his pajamas, in the comfort of his own home, writing whatever creativity was in his mind at that moment.

_Lucky bastard,_ he thought bitterly, but with a smile. Matthew liked having the obligation to get up in the morning and actually _go_ to work. If he were at home, it would not be long before he was watching movies or playing video games online. He would never get any real work accomplished.

_I'll buck up and go for the novel eventually…the limelight is not big enough for me _and_ Caleb_.

Caleb wrote science fiction and fantasy novels. The recent viral spills that had taken place had catered to his muse. He did novelizations of the incident in Raccoon City, Maine, France, and Australia. A few others had followed in his footsteps, but he had already monopolized the market genre. After he had written the true story about every accident that had actually happened, he moved on to fictitious ones. Those were even more popular than the true ones, because his imagination was the limit as to what could happen; he had no obligation to convey actual events.

He had even dedicated one of the books to Matthew for scoring him an interview with the reclusive ex-S.T.A.R.S. member Barry Burton. Barry's spin on the mansion incident in Raccoon was the foundation of Caleb's first novel. It was a small token of thanks, but appreciated nonetheless.

_Maybe I'll do it for him one day,_ Matthew pondered. He pulled into the parking lot of the facility that had always been a refinery to him, as long as he could remember. Now it was the home of Tri-Cell pharmaceuticals. It made no sense to him why they would need a facility that was used to convert crude oil into fuel.

That would be the first question that he asked he got the chance. He put the car in park, made sure he had his tape recorder and memo pad ready. He secured his press pass and drew up his hood. It was time to make some noise. Today was the grand opening of sorts of Tri-Cell's new 'research facility.' They were cutting the ribbon on the door and allowing local reporters and camera crews a small conference to take questions.

_It's like they're trying to draw attention to themselves…guess they want to have the appearance of being transparent._

He walked into the first door he saw which lead to a lobby with plush, black chairs and sofas with stainless steel legs. The décor was very hip, modern, and very clean looking, exactly what one would expect from a pharmaceutical company. The receptionist was sitting aptly at her desk, her fingers pecking away at her keyboard, her eyes glued to the monitor. As Matthew approached she greeted him with a smile.

"Good afternoon, can I help you?"

"Yes. I'm here for the press conference," Matthew replied with a coy smile, as he flashed his press pass for her to see. She glanced at it nonchalantly and then grabbed a pamphlet from her desk.

"Go right through that door, down the hallway, take a left, and then your first right. The conference room is there," she replied. He smiled, gave her a nod, and walked briskly towards the door she pointed at. It led into a whitewashed hallway that echoed his footsteps as he walked. He could hear the sound of people talking and laughing in a room ahead.

He walked into a room full of chairs, reporters busily trying to reserve their seat in the front. When they had set their things down, they formed a line for the refreshment table. Matthew had been to enough of these to know that it was not being in the front that counted, but being on an aisle seat. You could lean out and get the speakers attention from any row, as long as you were in his immediate line of sight.

Matthew was surprised to find an empty seat in the fourth row aisle, left side. He set his stuff down, and looked at the refreshment table full of pastries, fresh fruit, bagels, muffins and other miscellaneous, stereotypical breakfast foods. He was not hungry; Caleb always kept a well-stocked fridge. He could use a cup of coffee though. Everyone was in line to butter their muffins, and the beverage table was quite a bit less crowded.

He walked over to the table, grabbed a small Styrofoam cup and poured some hot, black, wake-you-up, goodness into it. His mouth watered as the scent pleasantly invaded his nostrils. He sipped it carefully, so as not to burn his lips. It tasted bitter and cheap, but it was coffee. Satisfied, he took his cup back to his seat to find a young, blonde woman sitting in the fourth row, left aisle seat.

She noticed him as he took his seat across the aisle. He raised his eyebrows and felt warmth enter his cheeks. She was rather attractive, straight, blond hair, green eyes, pearly smile, and full voluptuous figure. He was not going to wait for her to introduce herself; he checked the nametag: Kasey F., Alton Telegraph.

The Telegraph was a local newspaper in the area. It was stationed in Alton, a few towns over from South Roxana, the city the refiners were in. Technically, the three different refineries were in three different cities: Hartford, Wood River and South Roxana. The cities were so close together they were really like one big city, built around the refineries.

"Hello," Matthew said.

"Hi there," she said, extending her hand, "I'm Kasey Feldman, Alton Telegraph."

"Matthew Peck, New York Times," he replied, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. One of her eyebrows went up as she glanced at his badge.

"New York Times, eh? That's impressive," she beamed.

"It's really not all that it's cut out to be," he assured.

"So what are the big dogs doing down in Podunk, Illinois?" she asked with genuine interested.

"I'm from here, actually…South Roxana anyway," he confessed.

"So you decided to catch this breaking news story while you were in town," she asked, sarcastically of course.

"Something like that," he replied, with a winked, and the conference began. A tall, brunette woman in her forties, with her hair pulled back in a tight bun took the podium. She tapped the microphone because there was no sound coming out. She began to speak, still with no amplification.

"…sting…There we go! Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Tri-Cell pharmaceuticals. My name is Jessica Granger, head of public relations for Tri-Cell. Before we take any questions, I would like for you to take a look at our presentation video, and I will give a basic overview of the company. I see that you have already helped yourself to some refreshments; please feel free to get refills and seconds at any time.

"I hope that you enjoy yourself today, and I look forward to getting to know you all better," she said, finishing her speech with a girly smile.

_She's friendly…they all are._

The lights came down, as did a projector screen on the back wall. The video blue light hit the screen and in a few seconds the presentation began to play. It was the same old boring, bullshit presentations that all companies put up, with paid actors to give testimonials about the treatment or service they had received. In gave a look at the different divisions of the company, medical, chemical, research, and etc. Matthew scribbled down a few notes and names. They were kind enough to give the names of the heads of each department in the presentation.

Soon enough the video was over, more concise than he had originally anticipated. Kasey leaned over and whispered something to him.

"That was painless enough," she said. He just smiled, and gave a nod. He could tell that there were other stories that she would rather be covering than the grand opening of a pharmaceutical company's research facility. He could not say that he blamed her either, but if she knew what he knew…

The lovely, pleasant Jessica Granger began to explain what Tri-Cell was "all about" and how it planned to help the community by creating jobs, college-accredited medical internships, and one day, hopefully, a cure for cancer. She received some applause, and, at long last, it was time for the questions.

"Now, do we have any questions…yes! You, in the front," she said, pointing to a balding, fat man in a brown suit.

"I think that I speak for everyone when I ask, why did you pick the refineries as your facilities? Surely they do not meet all of the necessary health codes and requirements to be a medical facility," he asked. All eyes were on Jessica.

"We chose the refineries because of the state-of-the-art chemical labs and equipment that were installed here a few years ago. They will be perfect for our research division. Plus, there are dorms, shower-houses, office space" she replied. She might as well have read the canned answer off of a paper.

"What about the hundreds of refinery employees that are now out of jobs?" a young black man in the front asked, sticking his recorder forward to catch Jessica's answer.

"Our company added to the severances that their employers were already giving them whenever we bought the facility. Some of the chemical engineers were able to maintain employment, but most took the generous severance," she replied. Matthew was getting anxious. He could not expect a good time to interject his questions; they were all asking the same harmless questions that their employers had told them to. He leaned out and stuck his hand in the air.

"You there, fourth row," she said, pointing to Matthew.

"Does Tri-Cell's virology department have any plans, or progress on developing a cure for the T-virus?" Matthew asked. There were a few gasps. Even Jessica was a little taken back.

_What's the matter? They didn't prepare you with a canned answer for that one, did they?_

"I have no comment on that, sir…"

"Matthew Peck, New York Times," he interrupted, "now when you say 'medical research,' what kind of research are you referring to?"

"All of the research conducted at Tri-Cell is for the betterment of humanity. We are always looking to develop new medicines and better treatments for…"

"I was just curious, as to whether or not anything is going to be done concerning the recent outbreaks across the U.S.," Matthew pressed.

"It is unfortunate what is happening, but Tri-Cell is in no way involved…"

"I wasn't accusing Tri-Cell of any direct involvement, Miss Granger, but curious if there were any efforts being made to resolve the current dilemma, a vaccine perhaps," Matthew asked.

"Mr. Peck, I am unclear as to why," she started again, stammering, stumbling over her words.

"Did the funds necessary for this facility come from government funding? Is there an expected viral attack coming in the Midwest?" he asked.

"Mr. Peck, I think that your interrogations would be better directed towards the Umbrella Corporation. They are the ones responsible for the creation of the T-virus, and its sale on the black market. The United States government is looking to develop a vaccine for the virus, as you well know," she replied haughtily. She was about to move on to the next question, but Matthew was ready to drop his bomb.

"What is your comment on the fact that Vincent McFadden, ex-executive for the Umbrella Corporation, is now the CFO for Tri-Cell? Is he suspected for involvement with the creation of the T-virus?" Matthew asked.

"I…uh…" she stuttered. At that moment, the fire alarm sounded. A cool, pleasant, female voice calmly alerted them to make their way to the nearest exit.

"Please…everyone! Stay calm! Make your way out the door and to your left!" Jessica said through the microphone. Matthew was out the door in a flash, a huge smile on his face.

_That went better than I could have expected_.

He had to take the long way back to the parking lot. They wanted everyone to stay together until the firemen arrived to ensure that it was a false alarm and there was indeed no fire. He had certainly ruffled their feathers, and given just enough information for other reporters to start asking similar questions too. It was just the right kind of squeeze for them to tighten their security a bit.

He pulled Caleb's keys out of his coat pocket and hit the unlock button. The taillights flickered to life, and the clicking sound of the locks disengaged sounded through the air. He also reached for his cell phone, ready to call Caleb to let him know how it went.

"Hey! Matthew! Wait!"

He spun to see the cute blonde…Kasey, hot on his heels. If she were any less good-looking, he would not have given her the time of day. Something about those full-pouting lips and a face full of adorable freckles made him stop.

"You were holding out on me," she accused. She was not mad; there was a huge smile on her face. "I knew there had to be something going on if the New York Times was trying to get a scoop."

"Sorry about that…kind of a professional secret," he joked.

"You really put the squeeze on them in there. I seriously doubt that convenient fire alarm was an accident. My question to you is this: what are you trying to do? You're not staying to get an official statement from them. The only way you're not going to let them keep quiet about their involvement with the T-virus and Umbrella is if you know something already," she said with a snicker. Matthew held his hands up as a reply, shrugging. He was not about to give her any more information.

"You don't miss much do you?" he asked.

"So you're not gonna give me anything?" she demanded.

"If the shoe were on the other foot, would you?" he asked. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Information was essential in the journalism business. If you knew something that no one else knew, you got the lead story, the paper bought your article. That's just the way that it was.

"Sorry, honey. It's business," he winked. He got into Caleb's car and started to drive away. She pounded on the window and motioned for him to roll it down. As he obliged, she furiously wrote something on a small piece of paper. She tossed a business card through the opening.

"Call me," she insisted, making the motion of a phone to her ear. He nodded, still with no intention of sharing any information with her and rolled up the window. The tires spun a little on the treacherous snow as he dialed Caleb's number.


	3. Chapter 3

The past couple of days had been gray and depressing…not mention uneventful. Caleb hated the winter, but he was, surprisingly, sorry to see the snow melt away into sludge. He considered the powdery, white snow the lesser evil than the wet, gray slush. The problem was though, that it had rained the other night, and then got cold again. Now the entire town was encased in ice.

_Why the hell am I still living here?_

He had enough money to uproot and move someplace south, someplace warm, but he stayed in his hometown anyway. He had finally achieved his writing ideals. He had published several novels, most of which had went over very well with his audience. He would be collecting royalties from the Raccoon City novel for years to come. He no longer had to work the nine-to-five job, but could set his own pace, hours, and still reap the benefits of a decent income.

He had just finished a chapter on his fantasy book when he decided that it was time to get up and do something else. He would force Matthew to read the chapter to check for typos, grammatical errors, and also to get his professional opinion. It helped have another opinion that he trusted around. His family was approving everything he wrote.

_They're too approving_.

He opened the door to the spare bedroom, the one that Matthew was staying in. His clothes were scattered all over the floor. He had run out of clothes pretty quick, considering he had only packed two changes of clothes. He had borrowed some of Caleb's clothes for a while, and it had worked for a while, considering how close to the same build that they were.

They were very close to the same height, weight, size and build. They even looked similar, not close enough to look related; they had entirely different faces, but they might appear so from behind. Both were about six feet tall, two hundred pounds and dark hair. At a closer look, the difference really started to stand out. Matthew had very pale, almost ghost-white skin, Caleb had a natural tan hue to his skin. Caleb's facial features were very round, pronounced and striking. Matthew's were sharper, more angular and subtle. Caleb kept his dark brown hair cut short and spiked on the top. Matthew's hair was longer, his bangs hanging in his face. Caleb had brown eyes, at first glance they were so dark it looked like he had just a big black pupil. Under the light his eyes were a unique sienna color. Matthew's eyes were a rare and alluring green, some shade between jade and forest.

Caleb had always found a kindred spirit in Matthew. They both wrote when they were younger and grew to do it for a living. He would never imagine that they would work on a project of this nature together. Writing a novel together was one thing, but meddling with Umbrella's covert affairs for a story was risky business. Still, he could think of no one better to take on the challenge than Matthew.

He picked up the dirty clothes and stuffed them into a laundry basic. He checked under the bed to make sure that he had every stray article. Matthew was out buying some extra clothes right now so that he did not have to keep borrowing from Caleb. They had very different dress styles too. Caleb was a little more conservative, reserved. Matthew was a little more edgy and hip.

He poured some mountain fresh detergent in the washer, turned it on and arranged the clothes evenly around the turbine. He was sure to go through the pockets in case that Matthew had left something in his pocket that he would not want washed. He felt a cardstock, unmistakable, rectangular shape of a business card in the pocket of the only pair of khakis that the kid probably owned. Curious, Caleb plunged his hand into the pocket and pulled it out. On the back was a note scribbled in damn-near illegible handwriting.

_Call me!_

And there was a number on it, probably a cell phone number. He turned the card over and his eyes went wide with surprise.

**Kasey Feldman – Alton Telegraph**

He totally knew her! In fact, he went to high school together; they were part of the same graduated class of nine people. They had both gone to a very small, private school. She had graduated early as a junior his senior year. Last he had heard from her was about four years ago. He had run into her one night at Daddie-O's, a local bar, and she was actually dating his cousin. He was curious to see how that turned out. He did not talk to his cousin very often, and talked to Kasey even less. Obviously, they had not gotten hitched, he figured; her last name was still Feldman.

He was even more shocked to learn that she worked for the telegraph.

_No, wait! It totally knew about that! I read an article of hers not too longer, saw the name and wondered if it was her or not._

He had not given it much thought at the time. Most girls he knew spelled their name with a 'C' instead of a 'K' so it had to be her, now that he thought about it. It would totally be just like her to go and be a writer for the Telegraph, just because it was so unexpected. She was one of those rare girls who graduated with a degree in Spanish and became a journalist for her town's local paper.

_I'll have to ask Matthew about her when he gets back_.

As if on cue, the front door opened up and Matthew stumbled in with two huge bags of clothes. He kicked the door closed and tossed Caleb's keys on the coffee table.

"Hey," he greeted nonchalantly, making his way to the spare bedroom.

"When did you run into Kasey Feldman?" Caleb asked straightaway.

"Why? Do you know here?" Matthew replied with a question.

"Yeah, we went to high school together," Caleb explained. Matthew scoffed.

"Didn't you have a graduating class of like, six?"

"Nine," Caleb snapped bitterly.

"Whatever. Anyway, yeah! She was at the press conference at Tri-Cell. She works for the Telegraph."

"…the Telegraph," Caleb interjected, saying the words at the same time as Matthew had. Matthew nodded and continued to put his clothes away. Caleb was not nearly done getting information from him. His curiosity was known to be pretty insatiable.

"So…" Caleb said, prompting Matthew to continue talking.

"So…what?" Matthew replied, mimicking Caleb's voice and tone.

"So why did Kasey give her number…does she have the hots for you?"

"Maybe. You jealous?" Matthew shot back. Caleb chuckled.

"No. I was just curious. You didn't tell her about what we're gonna do," Caleb said. It was supposed to be a question, but he was so disconcerted for a moment, it came out as a statement.

"Of course not," Matthew answered, looking at Caleb like he was stupid.

"Just wanted to make sure…anyway! What are you feeling for supper tonight?" Caleb asked, changing the subject.

"Pizza," Matthew said, without hesitation. Caleb like pizza well enough, but his taste for food was always on the more ethnic side: Mexican, Chinese, Sushi, and Indian. Right now, he could totally chow into some pizza though.

"I'll call Papa John's; you pick out a movie," Caleb said. He picked up the phone and mindlessly ordered some pizzas, hot wings, sodas, breadsticks and way more food than the two of them would eat. That was the good thing about delivery food though, it was always good heated up the next day. He was just finishing the order when Matthew tried to get his attention.

"Hey! Hey, do you have TiVo? Caleb! Do you have a DV-R or something?" he started demanding out of nowhere. Irritated, Caleb turned his back and held up one finger, letting Matthew know he would rewind the damn thing in a minute.

_Sheesh…_

"Yes, sir. Nope, an hour is fine. Thank you," he said, hanging the phone up, and turning to tend to Matthew sudden and dire need to operate the TiVo.

"Yes. It's the black remote…no! The other one! Here, let me do it," he said, snatching the remote out of Matthew's hand. He hit the rewind button and looked over at Matthew for when to stop.

"That's good," Matthew exclaimed, holding up a hand. He pointed to the screen for Caleb to watch.

_What the hell could be so damn important that…_

"…bizarre murder last night in Hartford, IL. The victim was thirty-three year old Thomas Eden, resident of the small refinery town. Authorities say that the body was mutilated so badly, the body was not recognizable. His wallets and other belongings were found in tact on his person, ruling out a mugging. Police still do not have a motive for this grisly crime…"

Caleb frowned, disturbed by what had happened. The worse crimes that happened in his area were the rare robbery or shooting in downtown Alton. To his knowledge, no one had ever been 'mutilated beyond recognition' in his town. He did not see why this piece of information was so important to Matthew or himself. Was he supposed to know the guy? The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he was sure that he did not know the man personally.

"Okay…so what is this all about?" Caleb asked. Matthew rolled his eyes and sighed, like he could not believe that Caleb was not getting the connection.

"Don't you see? We're too late. There's already a spill. It's T-virus! It's gotta be!" Matthew exclaimed. Caleb raised one eyebrow, deliberately letting his expression ooze with skepticism.

"Why do you say that?"

"Oh come _on_, Caleb! Really? Don't you remember what happened with Raccoon City? It all started with bizarre murder cases. Hikers would go missing and then be found completely ravished…eaten…their bones picked clean," Matthew iterated.

"Yeah, I know all that. You think that's what happened to this guy?"

"Don't you?"

"I don't know what to think. They didn't really give very much information…"

"Take my word for it, Caleb. In a few days, they are going to release that his body was mutilated from human teeth. If they're not careful with the body, they could spread the virus," Matthew said, biting his lip nervously.

"Will you chill out, dude? The T-Virus is old news; most police forces are trained to deal with stuff like that. I'm sure that even Umbrella doesn't want another spill on their hands. They had a hard enough time cleaning up their other messes," Caleb replied.

"I need to use your computer," Matthew said. Caleb motioned for him to go ahead. Matthew leapt up from the couch and sat down at the desk, pecking away at the keyboard. Now, Caleb was way too curious not to follow along.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm checking to see if Tri-Cell has purchased any other local facilities around here besides the refineries," Matthew replied.

"Like what?" Caleb asked.

"Like this," he said, tapping the monitor a little too furiously for Caleb's liking. Caleb looked and saw the headline of the article: "Tri-Cell Donates Huge to Local Hospitals."

"I wouldn't call that a purchase," Caleb pointed out.

"This article says it all, though. They've been throwing money around at the hospitals, the college, specifically the biology department, even the newspapers, police precincts and TV stations," Matthew pointed out.

"They're expanding their range of influence," Caleb said, finally catching on. He felt dumb for not making the connection a little sooner.

"Yeah, they're buying people off. It's a slow process, I'm sure…but people are less likely to tattle on the people writing their checks," Matthew beamed.

"Hey! Check that out. Kasey wrote this article," Caleb exclaimed, pointing at the screen with a smile. Matthew scrolled up so that he could see it better. Sure enough, Kasey had been doing faithful reporting on Tri-Cell's activities.

"See if you can find something on the murder," Caleb suggested.

"One step ahead of ya," Matthew replied, his fingers flying furiously across the keys. In just a few short moments they had multiples stories about the murder, all of them a little more in depth than the news spot. Then again, they had not listened to the whole thing.

As his eyes scanned over the articles, he looked for something that was a little out of the ordinary. He did not have to look long at all. Matthew saw it too.

"I'm sure Tri-Cell loves this," Caleb pointed, a lot softer at the monitor. Matthew maximized the window so that they could get a better look. He began reading from the beginning. It turned out that they were having forensics experts from the FBI coming to examine the crime scene and the body. He smiled for a minute, thinking an absentminded thought about forensics experts.

_That would be so crazy is she was here…_

He picked up his cell phone and found her number: Lindsey Helden. She had also gone to high school with him, graduated the year before he did. She had went to school for forensics, majoring in biology. She did a lot of autopsies and worked with blood, urine, semen and all the other wonderfully nasty bodily fluids. On a special case like this, they might just call her in.

When he found the number he began to text away. He did not want to ask straightaway without saying hello first. She was another one of those friends that he had not seen in quite a long time.

**Hey, friend. Long time no see. How have you been?**

He put his phone in his pocket and glued his eyes back to the screen. It was too much for him to try to catch little tidbits here and there.

"Print this stuff. I'll want to look over it more thoroughly later," Caleb said. Matthew nodded and began to print each article about the murder.

"Don't forget the stuff about Tri-Cell too," Caleb reminded.

"I'm on it," Matthew said, assuring him. Caleb began to clear the table and set it for dinner. He was surprised to see that they had been at the computer for almost a half an hour. It did not seem like long at all.

_Buzz!_

His pocket began to vibrate. Excitedly, he reached into his pocket and saw that he had a text from Lindsey. He opened the phone and read anxiously.

**Not too bad…I'm actually in town! We should get together for lunch sometime.**

Caleb could not help but to smile ear-to-ear. He had always been a little taken with Lindsey when they were younger. He had only seen pictures on her Myspace and Facebook, but he was sure that she was just as stunning as she had always been. His fingers moved rapidly across the keypad of his phone.

**That would be so cool to catch up! What are you in town for?**

He was distracted for a little bit, looking at the papers falling from the tray, falling to the floor like a feather. Matthew made no attempt to pick them up or organize the pile. Caleb grumpily went over and picked up the stack from the tray, as well as the few strays that had fallen to the floor.

"Oh sorry, dude," Matthew said, glancing absent-mindedly at the pile on the floor. Caleb could not help himself.

"Yeah, like you didn't notice," he shot back sarcastically. Matthew made an indignant hiss and shrugged, letting Caleb know he did not care.

_Whatever…_

_Buzz!_

His phone went off again. He opened it up and laughed out loud in surprise. He could not believe the odds.

**There was a murder in Hartford. Some guy got chewed up pretty bad. Anyway! When would be a good time for you?**

"You're not gonna believe this," Caleb started, "but my friend Lindsey, from high school, who works in forensics for the FBI, is here investigating the Hartford murder."

"Far out! Do you think she can give us some inside info? Like weather or not the T-Virus was involved?" Matthew asked hopefully.

"Better than that...we were pretty tight in high school. She might let us take a look at the body…maybe even investigate the crime scene," Caleb replied. Matthew's face lit up like Rock Springs Park on Christmas. Caleb nodded to let him know that he was serious.

"Can she be trusted with this? The Umbrella stuff, I mean," Matthew asked.

"She has personal experience working with this sort of think. She's probably seen more action than you," Caleb replied.

"I wouldn't doubt that. I haven't seen _any_ action. I've just talked to a lot of people who have. Anyway, call her here and let her know what's up," Matthew said.

Caleb was already dialing her number.


	4. Chapter 4

As expected, Lindsey was just as stunning as she was in high school. She had perfectly tanned skin, big brown eyes, long, straight, glossy brown hair and a pearly smile that sparkled with radiant beauty.

Caleb was immensely pleased to get reacquainted with her. They had lunch before he decided to start asking for favors concerning the crime. He was not particularly thrilled about the idea of looking at a dead body, torn to pieces, so he had lied, and told Matthew that Lindsey said no about the body. Really, he had not even asked.

The three of them were walking underneath the yellow crime scene tape that had roped off the area where Mr. Thomas Eden spent his last tragic moments. Matthew had his camera and was already flashing pictures left and right. Caleb was not sure that he was supposed to do that. It's not as if anyone could not see them out there, in broad daylight, crossing the crime scene tape without uniform. Then again, it helped to have an FBI agent with a badge to flash if someone so much as asked them what they were doing.

Something about a woman flipping open a badge, declaring confidently that she was FBI that intimidated the hell out of people.

_I should have joined the FBI_, Caleb thought absently to himself. He felt kind of useless as Lindsey explained the crime scene to Matthew, he seemed to understand every word she was saying. Caleb had never been to a crime scene before and was afraid to even walk around. The two of them were treading very carefully across the blood-stained ground and snow.

"Just gathering from what I see, it looks like he was attacked by multiple people, coming from different directions. I see at least four sets of footprints here, aside from Thomas's," Lindsey explained, pointing her flashlight at different sets of prints. Caleb worked hard to try to follow the crime scene investigation jargon, but was more concentrated on how he would narrate this scene when he wrote the novel.

It was a particularly cold winter evening, snow falling furiously from the skies. Thomas walked as fast as he could without slipping. His car had gone off the road because he slid in the snow and it was stuck in a ditch. He did not have his cell phone on him; he left it at home. At least he was only about a mile away from his house. He just needed to walk up the long road that ran alongside the refinery in Hartford, cross the train tracks and he was home free.

He heard a low, painful groan not too far from him. It sounded human. He looked and saw a figure limping his way over to Thomas, arms outstretched.

_What the hell?_

As the man inched his way closer, it was clear that he was injured. Thomas took a few steps toward him, ready to help him out, take him to his house and call an ambulance. As soon as he was able to get a close enough look, he began to step back. There was something seriously wrong with this guy. Pale, loose skin, blood all over his front side, especially around his neck and mouth—it was revolting. He reeked like death, like a dead, decaying body kept in an slaughterhouse in the summer. His eyes were glossed over and devoid of life and reason. He was not human—he was some sort of creature.

_Zombie…_

The word did not bounce around his mind very well. He had heard stories about what had happened in Raccoon City, and in Australia and France. Could that really be happening here? He turned to keep going. He was not far from his house now. As soon as he turned he almost ran into a woman. She was dressed only in a hospital gown; her limbs were blue from frostbite. She too reached for him, arms outstretched, her mouth covered in blood as moaned hungrily for him.

"Stay away from me!" he shouted, to no avail. There was another creature coming up behind him. They were to close now. The first one snatched him in his decaying, frozen fingers with a surprisingly iron grip. Thomas pushed him away, hard enough to knock the man on his back, sliding across the snow. The woman grabbed him from behind and bit him through his jacket. Her teeth did not touch the skin, but he felt the meat in his shoulder give way under her bite.

He screamed in pain and spun, punching her in the face with all his might. She too, fell to the ground. He could feel warm, pulsing blood ooze down his back, seeping through his shirt as he turned again. The remaining creature grabbed him and began to gnaw on his neck, pushing his weight against Thomas as he felt to the ground. By the time he pushed the man off, the others were taking bites at his arms and legs, trying to get through the clothing so they could bite the skin.

He screamed in terror as the creatures began to eat him alive. He begged for death, cursing God until finally the creature took a bite out of his neck. He felt his jugular painfully give way and he blacked out, slipping into the black.

_Yeah…it probably would go something like that,_ Caleb decided. He had spaced out for a while, not paying attention to the conversation exchange between Matthew and Lindsey. He just hoped that they did not ask for his opinion about anything. He was sure he could not give them any kind of intelligent answer.

"Lindsey, please explain the T-virus thing to me again, about the body, that is," Caleb said, trying to make sense of what she said. Hopefully, she would dumb it down for him, so that he did not have to ask again. The first time, she had slammed him with a bunch of biology mumbo jumbo that had gone right over his head.

"There's really no way to find out of the T-virus was in and on the body. The bones were picked mostly clean. The T-virus needs at least a brain to infect and control. It won't lay dormant on tissue, waiting for something to infect. Over time, it will just die," she explained. This was a much better answer than the last one that she had given him.

"Is that normal and characteristic of viruses? To just die?" Matthew asked.

"Viruses are very interesting things. There is debate as to whether viruses are even living organisms or not. They are made up of only protein and a strand of DNA specific to that particular virus…they kind of look like hexagonal spiders…anyway, the virus attached itself to a cell, breaks the membrane and pushes the strand of DNA into the nucleus of that cell, causing it to mutate.

"There was not much left for the virus to attach itself to. The samples that I took all tested negative."

"Wow. Do we know where these footprints lead?" Matthew pointed at the tracks.

"They go off in different locations, kind of wandering aimlessly, and then they abruptly stop. It looks as if they fell down, and then were carried away. There are footprints from at least three other people at each site," Lindsey explained. She shivered as she spoke, her teeth chattering together. It was really cold outside, and the weather forecast only promised it to get colder.

"Sounds like Umbrella cleaned up its mess before it got too out of hand," Matthew said.

"So you really think…zombies did this?" Caleb asked.

"It follows the pattern: the dragging feet, lack of living tissue samples to gather from the crime scene, human bite marks on the corpse…I think Matthew's right, Caleb," Lindsey grimaced. He looked down at the tracks in the snow, trying to make sense of it. It just looked like a snowball fight gone way wrong to him.

"Is this enough evidence to prosecute Tri-Cell?" Caleb asked. He figured it was a no, but Lindsey would no way better than him, and a little better than Matthew. Crime was more her area of expertise.

"Not really. This is all evidence based on circumstantial assumption—we need some thing substantial, like a T-virus sample," she explained.

"Is it enough to get a warrant to search Tri-Cell's campus?" Matthew asked hopefully.

"Maybe. I'll bring this to my supervisor and run the theories by him," she offered.

"Don't waste your time, Lin. Even if you got a warrant, they would keep it locked up in a hidden place that the FBI would never find," Caleb warned.

"Your lack of faith in the Federal Bureau of Investigation disturbs me, Caleb. _If _we get the warrant and _if _they do have the T-virus in there somewhere, we will find it," she promised. That was the only thing that could put his mind at ease for the moment. At least they did not have a full-blown spill on their hands.

Suddenly, the roar of several black, armored trucks barreling down the road broke his train of thought. They were all identical and driving in a single file for the south entrance of the refinery. He looked at Lindsey and Matthew, who had similar expressions on their face. They could imagine what kind of cargo those trucks were holding, though they did not want to. Caleb was sprinting for his car, fumbling to get his keys. If they could get an idea of what facility, particularly what building they were hauling their precious cargo, they would have a much better idea of where to search.

Caleb nearly had the car in reverse when Matthew jumped into the passenger seat. Lindsey had her own car, and would have to fend for herself. She was a little bit behind them, still unlocking her door. Caleb threw the car in reverse and backed up without looking, tires squealing on the wet pavement. He pulled out of the parking lot and turned left onto the road just as the first black armored vehicle was turning left into the south entrance down the road.

"Hurry!" Matthew urged, pointing.

"I am!" Caleb snapped. He floored the accelerator and flew down the road well past the legal limit. Just as the last truck was turning in, Caleb had almost caught up to them. He hit the brake and let the car come to a crawling speed, rolled his window down, and peered to the left, watching the trucks. They drove onto the refinery campus until he could barely see them, and then they turned right. He could not see which building or where they were going.

"Well that's helpful," Matthew complained, sitting back down in his seat. Caleb shot him a glare. There was quite enough pessimism in this situation already.

"Don't be cynical. We know more than we did. We know what facility it's at, that it is a building on the south side of the refinery, and it's big enough to house five or six armored trucks," Caleb pointed out. He was usually a pessimist by nature too, but when someone took the initiative to be negative, the rebel in him forced him to be positive. It was a strange tendency, but that is what he usually did.

"Whatever…so what are we doing now?" Matthew asked, unenthusiastically.

"Now we eat…and wait," Caleb replied and continued driving, pulling out his cell phone to text Lindsey.

**Dinner?**

He continued driving towards Wood River and checked the rearview mirror to make sure that she was still following him. Soon enough, his phone vibrated and he had a text from her.

**Absolutely **

"So am I just supposed to sit while you two googly-eye each other?" Matthew complained.

"You're delusional," Caleb said, snapping his phone shut.

"You're in denial," Matthew replied.

"You're dumb," Caleb retorted.

"Yeah, well you're ugly," Matthew added. Caleb opened his mouth to say something, but he had no comeback for an insult so irrelevant and unintelligent.

"You win," Caleb conceded.

"I always win," Matthew replied, adjusting his seat so that it was lying back a little more. Caleb rolled his eyes and continued towards the nearest restaurant.


End file.
